


(Nothing) More

by for_the_love_of_wolves



Series: One Hundred Ways To Say "I Love You" [9]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Friends With Benefits, Getting Back Together, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, M/M, Pining, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:35:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25883713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/for_the_love_of_wolves/pseuds/for_the_love_of_wolves
Summary: Peter and Chris start to have an arrangement. It is just sex, nothing more. And it is fine, until Chris does want more. (Written for number 24: "Just because.")
Relationships: Chris Argent/Peter Hale
Series: One Hundred Ways To Say "I Love You" [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1698595
Comments: 10
Kudos: 127





	(Nothing) More

“No,” Chris says, when Peter shows up at his house late evening. “ _No_.” 

He tries to slam the door shut, but Peter is too fast and gets a foot in. “I don’t even get a hello? Why so cold, Christopher?” He pouts mockingly.

Chris glares at him. “Leave.”  
  
Peter just chuckles, looking awfully entertained. “Are you sure that’s what you want? Because I’m sure I didn’t imagine that scent coming from you today. In fact, I think the whole pack smelled it, it was … pungent.” He smirks.

Chris sets his jaw. God. Of course he had to have a reaction in a room full of werewolves. It was not intentional. It was just a slip up. He observed Peter at the pack meeting, how he bent over the map on the table. His eyes set on the way Peter’s jeans hugged his ass, an almost violent rush of angry arousal overwhelming him. He startled when he thought about putting his hand between Peter’s shoulder blades, bending him over some more forcefully and pulling down these damn tight jeans … 

Chris tried to stop his train of thought, feeling half horrified, half disgusted. When Derek glanced up at him with a frown, he knew it was too late to hide the smell. And he knew it was too late to hide anything, when Peter caught his gaze just before Chris turned around - turned away from that knowing _smirk._

On the drive home, he was gripping the steering wheel so tightly, it hurt, hating himself, hating that he can’t just _forget_. 

“It didn’t mean anything,” he tells Peter. After all, it’s not like he can’t find things attractive without liking the person they are attached to, right? 

“You’re so deliciously repressed, Christopher. Just like you were in the past.” Peter licks his lips and takes another step forward. “But you weren’t quite so defensive when we were fooling around back then. Do you think about it sometimes? About the alleys? About my mouth around your cock? Because I do ...” 

The anger comes in a violent rush. Chris reaches for the gun sitting in its usual holster at his thigh. A comfortable, solid and calming pressure. “Piss off,” he hisses. “Or …” 

Peter cocks a brow, his hungry gaze following Chris' movement. “Or what?”

“Or I will shoot you. And I can’t promise that there isn’t a wolfsbane bullet in the gun, I used it for a rough wolf just a week ago,” Chris snarls, pulling the gun out and running his finger over the trigger. 

Peter chuckles. He doesn’t look concerned at all. If anything, he looks more turned on.  
  
It shouldn’t surprise Chris. Peter has never known when to stop. He still doesn’t. He pesters on and on, he plays his games and exhausts the rules, only backing off when he really has to. He’s not backing off now. He drops to his knees and opens Chris’ pants in one way too graceful movement.  
  
Chris’ mind goes horribly blank for a long moment. He just stares as Peter pulls his jeans and boxers out of the way, exposing his cock to the chilly air. Chris is already half hard and he isn’t sure if he’s supposed to feel humiliated or guilty. The choice is taken away from him the next moment, because when Peter doesn’t hesitate to wrap his lips around him and suck, every coherent thought disappears somewhere behind the hot rush of arousal and the sudden unwanted _God yes finally._  
  
Chris forgets the gun in his hand. It hangs down loosely. He leans back against the wall, clenching his free hand into a fist. He could try to push Peter away, he could … But deep down, he already knows he gave in. Lost the game. He has already lost it, when he let a wolf kiss him in the locker room many years ago. 

And it’s true. He thinks about it. Too often, maybe. Thinks about a much younger Peter on his knees, looking up with eyes gleaming golden. They were all over each other back then. Hungry and wonderfully thoughtless like only teenagers in love can be. 

But the past is gone. This isn’t the same Peter anymore. And Chris isn’t the same anymore either. He has been destroyed many times and could never really set himself back together. He has lost everything good in his life. On some days, he is not sure why he is still going on. Sometimes, the only thing that gets him out of bed, is the thought that Allison would be disappointed, if he didn’t protect the friends she died for.  
  
Chris looks down and regrets it immediately. The sight makes his breath hitch. Peter meets his gaze, his eyes gleaming too blue. Chris’ hand twitches. Part of him feels the need to run his fingers through Peter’s hair and hold on to it, just like he did in the past. Instead, he closes his eyes and leans his head back with a shaky breath. He allows himself to get lost in the pleasure and wonders what it will cost him. 

It is over embarrassingly fast. He comes so hard, his vision blanks out for a moment. 

While Chris is still leaning against the wall and breathing heavily, still high on pleasure, Peter slips out the door and disappears in the darkness without a word.  
  
Chris pants into the void and rubs a hand over his sweaty face, trying to shove that insistent voice inside his mind away, the voice that tells him this isn’t going to be the only time. 

* * *

Peter comes back after some days. 

This time, his unannounced visit follows another pack meeting filled with silent glances and tension in the air. 

This time, Chris doesn’t say no. There is not much talking at all. 

This time, they move to the bed at a remarkable speed, kissing so furiously, their teeth clank together. 

This time, Chris pulls Peter’s clothes off so impatiently, a button snaps. They both ignore it. They are too busy to get skin on skin. 

The heat is almost unbearable. They move against each other like a couple of over excited teenagers. It is so different, but also has a certain touch of familiarity. The last time they touched like this, their bodies were different, there was less facial hair and more soft curves instead of sharp edges. The last time, there still was hesitation, gentleness coming from inexperience and embarrassment. 

There is nothing gentle about the way they touch now. It is hard, fast and angry. Or desperate. Chris can’t settle on one emotion. 

“What is this?” he asks tiredly, when they are done. Peter’s come is cooling on his hip bone and he is laying in a sticky spot. The sheets are crumpled and one of his grey socks lays draped over a pillow. It looks ridiculous. 

“It’s just sex,” Peter tells him, collecting his clothes one by one. The moon is making his skin look like pale silver. “Nothing more, nothing less.” 

Chris huffs. “Why me? I’m sure you could find ‘sex and nothing’ more somewhere else.”  
  
Peter shrugs. “Maybe I like the nostalgic touch of this.” He looks back at Chris and his eyes sparkle. “Want another round?” 

Chris snorts. “I’m not a teenager anymore.” Or a werewolf.

Peter shrugs and puts his shoes on. “Next time,” he says casually, “you can fuck me.”  
  
Chris would lie if he said he didn’t feel a surge of arousal at the mental image. They did a lot in the past, but not this. 

Peter smirks. “I can smell you like the idea.”  
  
 _Bastard._

Chris rolls around without another word and faces the wall. He eventually hears the door downstairs falling shut. Before he falls asleep, he finds enough energy to call himself stupid. He shouldn’t be doing this. They shouldn’t. Not after everything that happened. Not with all the instability in their minds and lives.

But … It is like an addiction. Like a drug cocktail he knows he shouldn’t drink but can’t resist.  
  


* * *

  
Two nights later Chris is inside Peter for the first time. It is almost too much. He is bent over Peter’s back, his fingers digging into skin, hard enough to bruise, but Peter’s noises are all pleasure. They are muffled by the pillow Peter’s pressing his face against. Once, his claws are out and scrape over the sheets, but Peter quickly retreats them. 

It is only when Chris is balancing on the verge of his orgasm, that he realizes Peter is trying to hide. In more than one way, and Chris doesn’t like it. He wants to see. He doesn’t know what he expects or what it would change, but he wants to see. He _needs_ to. 

He stops and flips them over roughly. First, Peter is too surprised, or too far gone to react. He just stares up, breathing heavily. But when Chris starts moving again, he tries to turn his face away. Chris reaches out, cupping Peter’s cheek and turning his face back. Peter doesn’t resist. Their eyes meet and Chris feels the sudden urge to kiss Peter, so he does. Their lips meet between gasps and moans. He swallows the noises and feels the familiar ball of heat in his stomach. 

When Chris backs away to catch his breath, he sees something in Peter’s eyes that makes his throat feeling tight. Something vulnerable. Suddenly, he realizes - truly realizes - what they are doing right now. They are connected. More than they have ever been. And Peter trusts him with this. In the end, it is this realization that makes him tumbling him over the edge. It is violent. A hot white rush of ecstasy. He bends over, panting heavily and hearing Peter’s groan, feeling it on the skin of his neck, when the wolf comes as well.  
  
Chris is still caught in the haze of bliss, when Peter pushes him away roughly so that he can get up and stumble into the bathroom. Chris rolls on his back and tries to catch his breath. He is surprised when Peter comes back after a moment, getting on the bed and stretching like a cat, looking sated. “I am taking a nap,” he tells Chris and it sounds like half a question. Like Peter is not sure if he is allowed. Chris nods. He watches as Peter curls up and closes his eyes, looking so much younger like this, his hair ruffled and face relaxed for once. 

Chris sighs. He pushes away feelings that have no place here. He has to remind himself that it is nothing special. It is just sex. Just sex. The reminder echoes in his mind when he falls asleep as well. 

Peter is gone when he wakes up. The only proof he has been there are the crumpled sheets. 

Chris angrily fights a wave of disappointment down. It’s just sex. Nothing more. Just sex. Nothing. 

Nothing more. 

He keeps telling himself that. 

Until he wants not nothing. Until he wants more. 

* * *

  
It happens gradually. 

Until nothing more than sex just isn’t enough anymore. 

Chris finds himself wishing he wouldn’t find the other side of the bed empty, when he wakes up from a post orgasmic slumber. And he tries to hate it. Oh, he tries. He also tries to explain it with the loneliness. The house is too huge and silent for him alone. Maybe, he should get a cat. Or a dog. Peter would probably be so pissed if he got a dog, he wouldn’t show up anymore. Good, Chris should think at that. But he doesn’t. 

He doesn’t want Peter to not show up anymore. Startled, he realizes he would miss the wolf. _Fuck_. 

Chris doesn’t tell Peter about his conflicting feelings. He can’t find the words to express his rising frustration. So he lets things just go on like they did. For a long while. For much more sex.  
  
But he can’t do it forever. One night, when they recover, soaked in sweat and come and - in Peter’s case - fading bruises, he kind of snaps. 

Peter stretches like a content cat beside him, yawns and then sits up, frowning when he only finds one of his socks and getting up to find the other one. 

Chris watches him. The words are out before he can really think about it. “You don’t have to leave, you know.”

Peter freezes for a volatile moment. The surprise is sharp in his eyes. But then, he snorts and reaches for his shirt. “What would I stay for. Cuddling and snuggling?” He makes it sound ironic. 

“You could stay for breakfast,” Chris suggests.  
  
Peter frowns. “I can’t tell if you’re serious.”  
  
“I am.” 

Peter is silent for a moment. He turns his back to Chris. To hide his face. Because he is still a bastard. “Well. That would somehow destroy the casualness of our arrangement, wouldn’t it?” 

“I don’t mind. It is not that casual for me anymore, anyway.”  
  
Silence. 

It starts to get really loud in the room.  
  
Peter stands there, his back tense and his hand too tight around the shirt. 

Chris clears his throat. “Do what you want, but don’t stand there for ages, it creeps me out.” He turns around, facing the wall. Stupid, he tells himself. So stupid. He knows Peter. Knows his tendency to run from situations he can’t handle or control. He is going to run now. And, maybe, he is never going to come back. Chris hates that he hates the thought, that it makes him … unhappy.  
  
He can hear Peter breathing evenly. Another moment passes. Chris swallows surprise, when the mattress dips. Peter lies down, adjusting the pillow and pulling at the blanket. He doesn’t say anything. So Chris doesn't talk either. He listens to Peter’s breaths evening out and feels himself dozing off slowly.  
  
Now, it is definitely more than sex, is his last coherent thought. 

In the morning, he wakes up cold, because it turns out, Peter is a blanket hogger. Of course he is. He also is horribly cranky in the morning, at least until Chris gets him coffee. They are sitting in the kitchen, eating breakfast, not talking much. It all feels way too domestic, but as long as they don’t talk about it, it doesn’t have to be special, Chris tells himself. 

Only, it is still not enough.  
  
He still wants more. 

* * *

Peter freezes. His eyes widen and reflect the dancing candle flames. “What is this?” 

“Dinner.” Chris points out the obvious.

“Dinner,” Peter repeats. He stares at the laid table, his brows wandering higher and higher. “I didn’t know you can cook.” 

Chris rubs the back of his head. “Well. Uh. I made Spaghetti?” 

Peter snorts. And laughs.  
  
The sound makes Chris feel warmer in his chest. It is so rare nowadays. He grins and pulls out the chair for Peter. “Sit.”  
  
Peter does so hesitantly. He looks down at his plate and then eyes the bottle of red wine in front of him, like he is not sure if it is real. “What’s the occasion?” he eventually asks, looking up at Chris. He sounds wary. 

Chris shrugs. “There’s no special occasion. It’s .. Just because.” 

“Just because,” Peter echoes. 

Chris nods. “Yeah.”  
  
Peter swallows heavily. There is something in his eyes Chris knows. “You can leave, if you want,” he offers, although he doesn’t want to sit here alone, like an idiot. 

Peter shakes his head. “I don’t want to. I am, in fact, hungry.” He smiles. It is softer than usual. 

Chris smiles back and goes to get the Spaghetti. 

  
It is enough _more_ to make him want to do this again.

**Author's Note:**

> These short stories are written for prompts on this list: [One Hundred Ways To Say "I Love You"](https://phantasticlizzy.tumblr.com/post/169119615088/one-hundred-ways-to-say-i-love-you)
> 
> You can prompt me, just send me the number and a ship on tumblr: [Tumblr](https://for-the-love-of-wolves.tumblr.com/)  
> :)


End file.
